


Whisperings to a Ravaged Mind

by Cosmicboredom



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mind Rape, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please Don't Kill Me, Psychological Horror, Rare Characters, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Tags May Change, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:16:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmicboredom/pseuds/Cosmicboredom
Summary: Sixty years after being picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable, the Ring has heard the Master call and it is time to awaken. But its bearer is not as easily corrupted, not by evil. This one has all the makings of a great hero, the One Ring always knows the hearts of its bearers. This one will be no different, but, oh, how much fun breaking this little Hobbit will be.





	1. After Weathertop

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, horrible person am I. We get that part, moving on.  
> So, as a general rule of thumb, just watch out for the tags. Because as I grow ever more comfortable with them, I am finding that this place is as sick and twisted as this story has come to be. Nice to have found my people.  
> Yes, this is a horror story. Yes there is a lot of horror elements, including RAPE. Please check your triggers at the door, and if you think you'll hold up, please continue.

He shook with fever, even though he was close to the fire. His body ached from the poison, keeping him from sleep.

He was stuck in the half-world of not living, not dead.

And it was cold.

Until there was suddenly a bright fire, an unearthly scream, and he felt his body lift from under the pressure of slowly dying. A whisper echoed around him.

_ Baggins. Baggins. Baggins. _

A shadow of a hand reached out from the darkness, and if he could he would have shouted, begged to be saved. He was rendered immobile and silent, he could only cry with fear as the hand came down upon his face gently.

_ Frodo Baggins. _

The hand cupped his chin, tilting his face this way and that as if he were being examined. He wanted to pull away but he was weak and the hand was cold. His strength was dying with him.

_ Come to me. Bring it to me. The One Ring to rule. Heirloom of fate. Heirloom of death. _

"No." He said aloud and his voice sounded meek.

_ Baggins. The One Ring. Heirloom of death. Return it to me. I shall grant your deepest desire. _

He gasped breath, the hand holding him stole it from him as soon as he had it. He wouldn't give up. Gandalf had told him not to use the ring. Even on his death, he would not fall into darkness.

_ Baggins. Baggins. _

The whispers faded away. But the dark remained.

"A eliberith, deliver me from this fate." He hissed and there was another inhuman scream.

_ You think you have won, boy. But the light of Stars will only go so far. And you are so close to being mine. _

"The Evenstar will shine, Dark One." He forced out of collapsing lungs. "You will not have the ring, nor any other part of my person."

A dark laughter echoed between the trees.

_ You will fail, halfling. And those you love will die for you. You cannot save them. _

He couldn't bear it any longer. "Then do away with me, beast. More will come in my place."

_ There is no light, halfling, only death. The Void will have you. _

The shadows receded and the warmth of the fire burned brighter above him. The snores of his companions filled the silence left behind, and covered the ringing in his ears. The ring lay dormant in his chest pocket.

"Frodo?" A voice called from the shadows, a familiar voice. One he needn't hide from. "You've awakened."

Tears stained his face, he could feel the grime being washed away. He didn't want anyone to see him fight like this, but they were all watching him to see if he turns before they could save him.

"Frodo," Aragorn was closer, and his hand was so warm against his forehead. "You are safe. You're burning up."

The laughter from the darkness hit another crescendo.

_ He worries. He will fall to you. The Ranger from the North will give you riches and power. You need only bow to me, and I will spare him. _

"Aragorn." He said, and pain lanced through his chest.

"I'm here, Frodo."  The Man said, and he heard the shift of cloth and metal. Aragorn was sat beside him. "I will let no more harm come to you."

"Aragorn." He'd said again before the darkness enveloped him and the dark laughter followed him into his dreams.


	2. The Ettenmoors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ettenmoors, the graveyard of mortal men.  
> Many have fallen in the battles for the North, and the hills here whisper things long forgotten in the ears of those close or familiar with death.  
> The Ring remembers the battles here, it keeps a record of souls lost in the skirmishes for Middle-Earth. Those voices whisper hate and dread where it walks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm a bit of a nerd. I get nerd boners for this kind of stuff.

"We ride at dawn, we're making good time." Aragorn yelled from some yards ahead.

"We're still days from Rivendell, he'll not make it." Sam protested.

Frodo sat upon the pony again, his backside was becoming sore, but his legs were too weak to carry him. He said nothing to his companions, he let them bicker. The whisperings were closing in again.

_ Baggins. Baggins. Frodo Baggins. _

"Frodo?"

He opened his eyes. Sam stood below, steadying him on the pony. His face cracked into a tired smile.

"Oh, Sam." He breathed.

"Mr. Frodo, we're close. Strider was true to his word. We are near the borders of Rivendell."

How long had he been out of it?

_ Six days. So close. Mine. _

"Good." He sighed.


	3. Battle at the Fjord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fjord, Brunien. A hated place. The Elves of Old know not what they bring into their midst. Sauron will destroy them all, bind them to the Ring, and it will feast upon their gorgeous souls.

A white light, bright and beautiful. He hated it.

No, it was an Elf. He was a friend to elves. His name would carry weight.

What was his name?

_ Baggins. The Shire. Find him. _

"Baggins, my uncle. Bilbo. He's here." He said through the fog of his mind. He couldn't tell if his mouth would obey.

"There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know." The Elf said, and he groaned. It was like a beautiful song, and it hurt his ears.

"We must bring him to safety." Aragorn was saying, and Frodo thought he would die before he heard that voice again.

"My people will heal him. Come, Elrond awaits."

\----------

The horse he rode climbed the hill fast, the terrible squeals behind him gave him chills. He gripped the white mane. The light hurt his eyes, the river drove deep into his heart, the gallop of the beast beneath him quickened.

He was close. They were close. It was a race to see who could take him first, the darkness or the light.

The voice screamed in his ears.

_ Turn back. Give them the Ring. Bow to your Lord. _

He nudged the horse to go faster, they closed in around him. The bridge was ahead, and four wraiths upon black horses stood between him and the elves.

The white horse took the turn, and water splashed his face. He looked back, the Riders would not cross the Brunien, the waters of elves made them burn.

_ No. No! Turn back! Turn back now! _

He laughed. He was safe.

_ Give me the Ring! _

"By Yavanna, I will not go to you, Dark Shadow." He hissed and his hand rested on his breast pocket where the ring lay whispering, angry. "You will have nothing from me!"

"Give us the Ring, Halfling. You are weak." The Riders hissed. Their black hoods made it impossible to tell who spoke first, but it echoed through the Nine and into the Ring.

"No!" He shouted, the water gave him life. He sat as tall as possible. "By the name of Elendil, I swear to you, you will not take it."

The ground began to rumble. The Dark Lord was angry, the shadowy screams of wrath echoed in and out of his head, and the Nine moved forward into the river.

A great tearing rendered the air, and the river rose. Black horses hesitated, the water rose to their knees, the riders' wails were inaudible under the roar of water suddenly erupting up the gorge. The water rushed down, and Frodo could swear he could see figures of pure white horses and fighting elves in the foam. The flood took the Nine, sweeping their horses under and carrying them down the river. Frodo felt his heart weaken, and suddenly he was falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may have noticed that this isn't the movie, and it isn't the book either. I like to mix things up, yo. Don't hate.


	4. Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House of Elrond Halfelven. The Light in the North.  
> Long friends these elves have been to the Men of Numenor, and the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. Keepers of the shards of Narsil, they await their moment to shine in the prophecy.
> 
> Renewed shall be the blade that was broken.
> 
> They wait for nothing but Death.

"Hold on, Frodo."

_ Give it to me. _

"He is passing. A Leth Bethnien, more Athelas!"

_ You are mine. _

"He's fading! Help him, Gandalf!"

_ Nine gifted to men, seven to dwarven kin, three for the Elves of light. One for the Necromancer of Morgoroth. _

"The blade, we need to remove it. It is digging, he will not survive if we do not act fast."

"Do what you have to, I will stay."

_ Your heart is mine, Halfling. _

"Frodo, please wake up."

_ In the darkness is where I wait. I see your desires, I hear your torments. Give to me the One Ring and you shall have it all. Gold beyond your wildest dreams, the High King of Gondor at your feet. _

"Mr. Frodo? How much longer will he stay like this?"

_ I am patient, Halfling. You will fail. _

"He is on the mend, Mithrandir."

"The Hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil."

"We can ask no more of Frodo."

_ They doubt you. They will abandon you. _

_ You will not succeed. _

_ \------------ _

"Where am I?"

"You are in the house of Lord Elrond."

Frodo opened his eyes, and he was blinded.

"And it is ten o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th if you want to know."

His sight adjusted, and he recognized the face beside him. "Gandalf?"

"Yes, I am here." The wizard hummed. "And you're lucky to be here too. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid."

Frodo pushed himself up, but his left shoulder protested his movement.

"But you have some strength in you, my dear Hobbit." Gandalf smiled, puffing on his pipe.

"Where is everyone?"

"I imagine they've found something to occupy themselves. Rivendell is varied enough for all minds."

"Mr. Frodo!"

"Sam?"

The blonde Hobbit was quick, and suddenly his bed was full of movement.

"Bless you, you're awake!"

"Sam has hardly left your side." Gandalf muttered.

"Well, we were that worried, Mr Gandalf, sir. How are you?"

"I'm sore." He said honestly.

"By the skills of Lord Elrond, you're beginning to mend, Master Hobbit." A dark-haired Elf said from the corner of the room.

"This is Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, Frodo." Gandalf said, packing up his pipe before lighting it again. "It is he who spared you."

"Welcome to Rivendell, Master Baggins."

\--------

"Where has Strider gone?"

Sam's face scrunched up, he didn't like the Ranger. Liked him even less because Frodo trusted him.

"He's busy. Gone out to find other elves." Sam said. "Come on, Mr. Frodo. You never let me win these games."

"I am worried, Sam." He admitted staring at the table between them. The strategy game they played mirrored his internal war.

"What for, Frodo?"

"I hear things, Sam. Horrible things." Frodo said quietly. "This is bigger than just a ring."

"It's going to be okay, Mr. Frodo. We got the ring this far, to Rivendell. It'll be safe here with the elves." Sam reassured, moving his piece across the board.

A dark laughter echoed to him, it was quiet, as if far away. Still, the fact that he could hear it made him doubt his friend's certainty. He could still discern the Black Speech, and it thrummed in his veins with the morgul poison still in him.

"You might be right, Sam." He nodded, but inside he feared leaving here with or without the ring.

\---------

"Frodo?"

He looked up from the book Bilbo had given him. There and Back Again; A Hobbit's Tale was the work Bilbo had spent near to twenty years writing, and Frodo felt wrong leaving it in Rivendell when so many Hobbits would love the true story of Bilbo Baggins.

Aragorn stood at the threshold of his room, looking worn and tired and dirty. His heart fluttered before the pain settled in again, a reminder of what he has to lose should he fail.

"Strider." He breathed, because forever Aragorn would be only a Man to him. Not a king in any normal sense of the word.

"You are looking well, Master Hobbit. It is good to see."

"Thank you. For everything."

Aragorn smiled and looked down. "It was nothing more than you would do for me."

_ He will lead you astray. Men are weak. Men are false. _

"I should find a room. Dead on my feet." Aragorn said, and strode away. Frodo's heart left with him.


	5. The Council of the Fellowship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine to guide the Ring through the lands of Middle-Earth, Nine Black Riders to take the Ring to Sauron. The desicions of the Wise have not forseen this burden undertaken by the smallest of hands. But the Ring still whispers in the ears of the weak, and the Halfling will fail.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it, you will unite or you will fall." Elrond's voice carried, echoed. It almost fell into the whisperings of the ring.  _ One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them. _ "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

Frodo looked up, Elrond nodded to him.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

He stood up, and felt all eyes fall upon him, even the red eye hanging over his shoulder. The Ring felt heavy as he made the short walk to the small table of stone in the middle of Elrond's council. He took a deep breath, and let the Ring rest in the very center.

His walk was lighter as he left it behind.

Aragorn caught his eye, and he smiled tiredly.

"This is a gift." Another Man, from the far East kingdoms of Gondor, whispered. Frodo felt the Ring pull at the Gondorian, it would use the man to return to Mordor. "A gift to the foes of Mordor, why not use this ring?"

"The One ring answers to Sauron alone, Boromir. It has no other master." Aragorn said calmly. "Men cannot use this ring. It has corrupted many before us."

"And a Ranger from the North would know this, how? Surely there were no women to carry on the tales of Gondor." Boromir sneered.

"This is no ordinary Ranger," An elf said, this elf was clad in the green of Mirkwood. Frodo recognized the motifs from Bilbo's book. "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir to the throne of Gondor. You owe him your allegiance."

The tension in the air was palpable, and the whisperings grew louder in the silence.

"Sit down, Legolas." Aragorn said, calm and watchful. Frodo looked on, and then to Gandalf, who merely raised his eyebrows.

"In a dream, I watched as the eastern skies of Gondor grew dark, and a horrible heat fell out of the mountain.

"In the west, a pale light lingered, a voice cried 'your doom is at hand. Isildur's bane has been found.' And the light grew until it rivalled that of the Great Dark, and the White City was burning. The Silver Tree of Gondor stood no longer, and the peoples screams rose into the skies to before being swallowed by a black laugh." Boromir said, and Frodo could see it in his mind's eye, a vision from the Ring. "I asked the prophets what this dream meant, and they sent me here. I did not come as those attending. And now, Isildur's bane has been found." Boromir eyed the ring, and Gandalf sat up.

"We cannot control this ring, my friend." Aragorn said, trying to placate the raging evil roaming the council for weakness.

The Ring made another whisper, and while Frodo ignored it as he had been doing, everyone else turned to eye it suspiciously.  _ One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness, bind them. _ The silence following was heavily pregnant.

"What are we waiting for then?" A red-haired dwarf said, and the ring called his name. 

_ Gimli, son of Gloin, you will die. You will all die. _

The dwarf raised an axe, and swung down upon the ring. The axe cracked in half, and the ring still stood, markless.

"The ring cannot be destroyed by any craft we here possess." Elrond said before anyone else could do more damage. "It must be cast back into the fire from whence it came, Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade."

"It is folly to walk through the gates of Mordor. There's an evil there that doesn't sleep." Boromir reported as he sat in his chair. "And a great Eye, that is ever-watchful."

"Then we must draw the Eye away from his homelands. Gondor must be ready to stand against the might of the Dark Lord." The elf from Mirkwood argued.

"I suppose you'll be the one to take it then?" Gimli laughed. "I would be dead before I see the ring in the hands of an Elf."

The elf glared down at the dwarf.

"Someone must carry it." Another Man muttered. Frodo had never seen the likes of the golden haired warrior who'd barely spoken.

"Aye, Eomer. But whom is strong enough to withstand it's evil?" The warrior's companion questioned. The council looked between one another.

"It should go to Gondor." Boromir shifted in his seat, away from Eomer and his kin.

"Have you not been listening, Boromir, son of Denethor?" Gandalf said, leaning forward. “Men are weak to its power, Gondor will fall too easily. It cannot go to Gondor, nor Rohan. It must be destroyed.

_ “Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.” _

The sky darkened as the words came from the wizard's mouth. Elrond reached up to hold his head, and the other elves to fear. The ring whispered louder, and then died down.

“I will not ask forgiveness, the ring is altogether evil.” Gandalf said.

The council was quiet, all eyes exchanged words unspoken.

“I see where you're all going.” Bilbo said, laughing to himself. “Bilbo that silly old Hobbit, he started this, he should up and end it, or himself. You know, this is rather unfortunate. I had just finished my book, and now I may have to add more chapters, should I live to tell them. When shall I start?”

Frodo looked around, hoping someone else would say what was hammering at his heart. The ring laughed viciously,  _ I will crush him. _

Boromir looked surprised, and was about to laugh if not for the solemnity of the others gathered.

“Bilbo, you do not need to finish this. You will not return.” Gloin said, fondly.

“I think Gloin is correct, Bilbo.” Gandalf agreed. “I think your part in this is long past, or if it isn't, then it should as recorder. Someone will need to write the story for when they come back.”

“I have never known you to give pleasant advice, my old friend.” Bilbo smiled. “Even then, your advice has always been true, so I wonder if it truly is so bad. Ne'er the less, I agree. The Ring has grown, I have not. I would not return from such an adventure.” He said sadly. 

Frodo looked among those gathered, Men, Elves, Dwarves; all subject to the ring and its evil deeds. He long suspected this, that he would not be free of this burden, that he should not be allowed to stay in Rivendell with his uncle nor leave for the Shire. He knew the ring was waiting for him, but the spirit would never know why he chose to take this trinket to the mouth of danger. He would never understand the makings of those not in the Circle of the Wise, for their eyes were too big, and one cannot see the details from such a position. Sauron would never expect it.

“I will take the ring,” Frodo said. “Though I do not know the way.”

Aragorn stood tall in the silence. The heir of Isildur crossed the room, knelt at Frodo's feet and bowed. “This is a burden of greatness, Frodo. I do not wish to lay it upon you, but if you take it willingly, then you have my sword.”


	6. A Long Expected Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are things that only Hobbits know and appreciate, so is the word of Yavanna who holds all that grow green as dear to her as her husband Aule. They tend the gardens for her delight, and with her blessing they pass unnoticed in the world.  
> But the Valar have great plans for these small folk, and those who follow the steps of Melkor tremble before the Mighty. Who are they to question Illuvatar's vision?

“We will leave as the Winter arrives, we may catch our enemy unguarded.” Gandalf said as he laid out the map. “The last Moon of Autumn falls in a fortnight.”

“We should take the Mountain Pass, it will take us through the Misty Mountains easily enough.” Aragorn pointed to the mounts on the map, the trail he'd chosen ran through the peak called Cahadras. “Shave off three or four days of walking, and it gives us an advantage over Isengard.”

“I'd say we would be taking the long way round!” Gimli shouted. “We should pass through the mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, will give us a royal welcome.” The dwarf thrust his finger at the map, and Frodo's gaze followed. That pass seemed to disappear underground and reappear on the other side of the Misty Mountains.

“Orcs patrol those eastern hills at nightfall, I would not go through Moria unless I had no other choice.” Gandalf grumbled, shaking his head. “What about the North Pass. We would find shelter and food among the Mirkwood elves, and steeds from the surrounding towns.”

“My father would be a gracious host, indeed, but not to all.” Legolas reported. “I would not risk this quest for the fate of one.”

“Why not far south in Rohan? The Forest will give us cover from Isengard, and shave off days of travel.” Frodo suggested.

“That forest is too dangerous,” Aragorn shook his head. “Wargs in every shadow and worse around the corner. If we are to survive, we would be better to go under the very nose of Saruman.”

“His treachery runs deeper than you know.” Gandalf agreed.

Aragorn looked Frodo in the eye, then his gaze turned to the map. “Regardless of how we cross the mountains, we have much ahead of us still.”

“How will we get to Mordor after the mountain?” Frodo wondered.

“From Cahadras, we would make for the river, the Anduin.” Aragorn's fingers followed the curves of the river. “We can try to cross, by bridge or boat. Once on the eastern shore we will pick our way through the labyrinth of sharp rocks in Emyn Muil, and cross through the Dead Marshes.” The King of Men tapped the map at the gates of Mordor. “And then we cross into a Shadow.”

\---------

A week passed uneventfully. Frodo had seen much of Rivendell now, from the river Brunien to the very steps of the house of Elrond. How beautiful and wondrous the halls, filled with moonlight and soft song and poetry. He could even recognize some of Bilbo's work among the older elvish stories. And he stopped ere he heard the familiar tones of the songs he'd heard as a child, if only to recapture that lost innocence.

After all he'd seen, he realized that adventures were far more dangerous than he ever thought possible. He could now hear the fear and sorrow and triumph and loss in each song, especially ones about the first battle for Middle-Earth.

In his uncle's songs, he could hear notes of longing and repentance.

He wandered the halls of song oft, reminding himself of the horrors to come.

Bilbo found him there more often than not, guiding him away from the dwelling of such great hypnotism. It was one such day that Bilbo watched him, noting the darkness forming under his eyes, the sallowness of his skin despite his time in the sun. The Ring was changing him already, anyone with a working eye could see. Bilbo, in his heart, felt pity, pity for his nephew, for having brought this burden into their home, for not leaving the Ring with that wretched _creature_ in the depths of the Misty Mountains. And he was guilty, for not having the strength anymore to go on this perilous quest himself.

With a smile and a gentle hand on the young Hobbit's shoulder, he took a seat beside his nephew to listen in on what had drawn the boy in _this_ time.

_"Roads go ever ever on,_

_Over rock and under tree,_

_By caves where never sun has shone,_

_By streams that never find the sea,_

_Over snow by winter storm,_

_And through the merry flowers of June,_

_Over grass and over stone,_

_And under mountains in the moon."_

It was a little something Bilbo had sung at the end of his own journey, and at the beginning of his last adventure. It seemed fitting that Frodo would have it be that this song sent him off towards the East.

"Frodo, my lad, come with me." He whispered and stood again with a small smile.

Frodo followed his aging uncle, through the halls once again, for tea in Bilbo's rooms.

"It is no small feat, to be standing in the halls of Elrond. " Bilbo said, and Frodo wound his arm with his uncle's as they walked at each other's side.

"Yes, it is wonderful here." He answered quietly.

"I have something for you, Frodo. A few old things that I wish for you to take along on your adventure, aside from an empty journal o'course." Bilbo's chuckle and smile made Frodo curious, once upon a time he had thought there _were_ no secrets between them, and then he inherited the Ring.

Bilbo sat him down, and pulled a wooden chest close, so they could still sit while he bequeathed his battle armament to his nephew.

Frodo, who still had not yet pieced together this puzzle, watched with no small amount of interest as Bilbo pulled out the _very last_ thing he would expect the old Hobbit to possess.

A sword, no longer than his arm, sheathed in soft brown leather was laid on the table, with the hilt facing him.

"Go on," Bilbo said, his own excitement getting the better of him. Frodo gripped the handle, it felt _right_ in his palm, and slid the sword out of its sheath until gleaming silver metal met his eye. "Sting, I call it. Though it may or may not have its own moniker. The blade glows blue when enemies are near, like any good elvish blade."

"Sting? The sword you found in the troll's cave?" Frodo asked with awe. His only true knowledge of this sword's existence came from Bilbo's book, and even then it felt more like legend than fact.

"The very same! You've been reading my book, I can see!" Bilbo laughed.

Then he reached back into the chest, and Frodo could see his uncle's face darken some. When Bilbo pulled back though, he was all smiles, hiding whatever pain this was causing him.

"This is a beautiful thing." Bilbo said wistfully. "It's as light as a feather, and as hard as a dragon's scale." The old hobbit held a mail shirt out to him. It was bright, as if the light of the stars and the moon were held within the delicate links. There seemed to be no imperfections, looking as it were wrought only yesterday.

"It's gorgeous." Frodo whispered, as he touched the water-cool metal.

"I want you to be safe, nephew mine." Bilbo warned. He was tired, but Thorin would forgive him this one weakness. "Even if I am not there to save you myself."


	7. A Shadow in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whispers in the dark, a shadow rises in the East, the Ring is restless. To the minds who hold fear, it is the Bane. But even the smallest hearts can fight the impressions of evil.  
> The Journey has begun, but the Enemy has many spies. And the Halfling is not even safe within his own Company. The hearts of men and wizards have no strength against the might of Mordor. Melkor's servant is awake, and all the wrath and malice therein contained will now spew forth into the lands of Mordor.  
> Devouring all life that dared to spring in his absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my long absence. I've been under a lot of stress and it's not easy to write when you can't think about anything else.  
> If anybody is following my other work, then I'm sorry to you too, because seriously, this was the first thing I finished.  
> Hopefully, I'll be getting back on track, but in case I don't, please don't be mad about my delay.

_Dark hands reached over him, he pushed away, scrambling to get as far from the Shadow as possible. The grip was inescapable, it dug into his skin, drew blood, and a loud, ringing laughter carried to him._

_“You cannot hide. I see you, Baggins.”_

_He cried out loud, fought harder, but the shadows pulled him into the heart of the Dark and enveloped him, tearing at cloth and skin. His throat was raw from his screams. His body went limp from the pain, and the shadows carried him further inside._

_Until there was a yellow light, and he cried out against it. His head bowed against his chest, the Ring was pulling him, a bright golden pinprick leading his descent._

_He screamed again, and his voice cracked. A large red hand came out of the light, palm open, and the Ring pulled him harder._

_“No!” He yelled, and though his body was tired and broken, he fought against the inevitable slide. He kicked and thrashed, anything he could to get away. He turned so the Ring pulled the chain around his throat, and it tightened around his neck. His hands, bleeding and skinned, scrambled for his throat, trying to force his way between flesh and metal. The pull had stopped. Now, the Ring was destroying him, he had no further use, he was dispensable._

_A single thought crossed his mind as he lost breath. And it was an arbitrary thought, one that only a Hobbit could convince of himself at the doorsteps of Death._

_Strider would never taste the mushrooms of Hobbiton as he'd once promised._

_He couldn't say what was so important about it, but it didn't matter. The last thing he heard as his eyes closed was the cruel laughter of the Ring._

 

He awoke as the dream ended, heart fluttering dangerously in his chest. The name upon his lips slipped through, and so did the tears.

Frodo sat up in the large bed of the Elves, a small being surrounded by white linens, and he felt the sorrow of his dream overcome him completely. He was alone, always will be alone, because of the Ring that hung between his breast and murmured echoes of the dream to him.

_Cannot hide. My Precious. One Ring to rule. We will swallow Middle Earth, and every being left on it._

Footsteps echoed outside his door, but he couldn't be bothered to clean himself up from the tears and sweat and fear. He would be blaming the Ring anyway, his behaviour was bound to change.

“Frodo?” He heard Aragorn in the shadowy doorway, but he could hardly see enough to confirm. It could be yet another cruel trick the Ring was using against him. “Frodo, are you in here?”

“Yes.” He gasped. “I am here.”

“What ails you, Master Hobbit?” The footsteps closed in, and in the soft moonlight that seemed at once everywhere and nowhere, he could discern the familiar features of the King.

“Dark dreams, and fear.” He admitted. “What keeps you awake this late?”

Aragorn's quiet laugh was strained. “The same, my friend. Nothing disquiets the mind like fear.”

Frodo felt manic, and his laugh showed it. “Well met, friend. I fear my mind may be playing tricks on me, trying to distract my heart.”

“We leave soon, Frodo. Do not listen to the fear, we will overcome. You will overcome.”

“And you? Will you be able to save me from yourself?” Frodo wondered, not intending to hurt but the fact still remained; the Company was a danger to him as well.

Aragorn's face seemed to twist oddly, as if at once he believed it was folly to question, yet folly to remain. “If by my life, or my death, I can protect you, Frodo, you need not question. Even from myself, as you put it. I would not risk want for the Ring, would not dare to want it, if not for you who bears it without question.”

“And am I the only thing that stays your hand?” Frodo whispered, afraid to speak what terrified him. “Would you kill me, to save the Ring?”

“Why do you wonder now? You have shown resilience to the Dark Powers, why do you question yourself?”

“Because of fear and how it digs into my mind.” Frodo said without preamble. “Now, my riddle should be solved, Strider. Would you cut off my head when it is corrupt and twisted? Take the Ring and its enormous burden to end this quest? Or will you watch me suffer?”

“Oh, Frodo.” Aragorn cursed in Elvish, and strode into the room. The Man took his small hand and held it, gently as if it were the most precious glass. “I will do what you ask of me, not without some effort on my behalf. But what makes you fear such is the thing that drives all men mad. And for that, I will lay to rest your anxieties, and your doubts. I will not let you fall into darkness.”

\--------------

The morning had not yet dawned, the air still held a cold about it, Frodo shivered under his cloak. The Darkness awaited just over the bridge, and he had to make the first step. From there, the road would split.

One way took him back to the Shire, back to his books, and his fire, and his garden.

The other led he knew not where, but it was towards certain doom and death.

A large hand landed on his shoulder gently, and he looked up into the smiling eyes of Gandalf. His own smile must've looked strange.

“Wherever you lead, Frodo, I am with you.” The old wizard whispered to him. The Mithril tunic Bilbo had given him molded under the weight of the wizard's hand, his newest secret was easily disguisable. He took a deep breath.

And he stepped onto the bridge, the Company was moving, there was no turning back.

He took the left road, East, the Great Evil of the East. All he needed was to follow the rising sun.

Sam appeared at his side, a wonderful blooming light of wonder and bravery. Then Pippin and Merry, his cousins.

Gandalf took the lead, he knew the lands of Middle-Earth better than any Hobbit, and with him, Legolas tread lightly with his Elven ears perked and eyes ever watchful. Gimli and Boromir brought up the rear guard, talking between themselves quietly.

Frodo smiled as Aragorn matched his stride perfectly, acting as personal guard as asked, and the King smirked back.

His Company was strong, and it would only last for so long. The Ring was already plotting, already whispering in the ears of the weakest links.

Many of the others of Elrond's house looked on, bade farewell in the softest of tones. There was no song rising from the halls of Rivendell, no music to lift the Company's hearts as they faded into the morning fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you may have noticed a slight hiccup earlier. I posted a chapter too early, and I forgot to flesh out the last chapter. So essentially, I buggered it up and had to make some serious adjustments. But at least I know I can bust something out when I'm under pressure. So enjoy.


	8. Uneventful Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eriador, once home to strong and fair elves, now a pile of ruined rock and brown plains. The state of this once beautiful land amuses the Ring.  
> This testament to their tenacity is offensive, that the Ring walks in these lands, so familiar and dead, is beyond blasphemous. The Servants of Celebrimbor are weak now, as they ever had been, but now more so because of the fading light of the Numenorian strength. There are no more allies, and the bonds between men and elves are easily broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm freaking back again. I'm trying to finish all this other stuff so I can finish the Fat Boy of my work (so to speak, if you dunno what a Fat Boy is, go look it up, we'll wait for you...).  
> Anyway, I have this chapter that I can share, just so I don't forget it.  
> Enjoy, friends!

Two weeks.

That is how long they had been walking when Gandalf suggested they stop for a while. Frodo was looking forward to sleeping in, as they would not be leaving until the night after next.

The days grew cold and no amount of walking nor shivering made the bite any less severe. He was glad for his cousins, and Sam, as they'd been apt to huddling together for shared warmth. The others seemed less affected by the change; Aragorn at least had teased them gently about not needing shoes.

As they made camp, Gandalf allotted them a fire for food and warmth. Frodo's cousins made their beds close to the fire, but the flames would do no more for him than all their heat combined. For the cold was seeping into his bones and it was not the same cold as a winter frost. He set his bed near Sam, who had determined his place very soft for the dry bed of dirt Gandalf picked. 

Frodo watched as Aragorn grew restless, standing to stare out at the rolling grasslands.

"Aragorn, is something amiss?" Gandalf called after the Man.

"It is strange," Aragorn murmured. "These lands are silent, save for you all. I feel watched."

"Hollin has always been a friend to the Elves, perhaps it is the surprise of seeing Hobbits in their lands. That is to say, this whole Company may generate some surprise." Gandalf said, packing up his pipe. "For now, we should remain quiet as well. And rest."

Aragorn nodded, but his attention lay South and West, Ranger eyes scouring the skyline. Frodo hunkered down, and ate what he could; if one brings a Ranger along on a journey, it is well to pay attention to him, especially if the Ranger is indeed Aragorn. If it is too quiet, move not and make no noise.

The watch was set, it was Sam's turn to wait and Aragorn stayed with him. Frodo felt the waves of sleep pulling at the fringes of his consciousness, and he scarcely lain down when he dropped into full sleep.

\---------

_ It came to me. _

 

_ The One Ring, it should be an heirloom, for those who follow in my bloodline shall ne'er risk no hurt to it. _

 

_ My precioussss…. _

 

_ It is precious to me. _

 

_ It's mine, my own. _

 

_ Riddles in the dark, a filthy creature. _

 

_ Blesses and splashes! _

 

_ My precious. _

 

_ Filthy hands, filthy minds. _

 

_ One Ring to rule them all…. _

 

_ The markings upon the band begin to fade…. _

 

_ I've put this off for far too long. _

 

_ My prrrrreeciousss…. _

 

_ Filthy little Hobbitses! _

 

_ Stole it from us! _

 

_ It was not yours to keep. _

 

_ One Ring to find them… _

 

_ Baggins. Baggins. Filthy little baggins. _

 

_ I will not part with a single piece of it. _

 

_ It STINGS! It burns us! _

 

_ It is mine. _

 

_ GIVE IT TO ME! _

\---------

Frodo awoke as a shadow passed over him, the remnants of his troubled dreams following him with an unearthly scream. He looked around, his bones frozen in place, to find both Sam and Aragorn awake and watching. He chanced a glance upwards, and caught a glimpse of black feathers, sharp beaks.

A hand rested on his shoulder, pressing him down. "Don't move." Was hissed into his ear.

The breath of Aragorn's beard along the shell of his ear made him want to jump right out of his makeshift bed. He ignored the feeling low in his gut that sprang to life despite the fear.

The shadows passed over once more, along with a single, horrible squawk. Frodo could  _ just _ see the gleam of white bone at the front of these terrible beasts. Aragorn leapt upwards and woke Gandalf.

"Crebain, from Dunland. I have not seen the likes of these creatures so far North, the passages Southward are watched. Hollin is no longer a safe place." Frodo heard as Sam watched on, his face stricken with terror among other things. How long had they sat watching such a nightmare fly above?

"Curses to Isengard." Gandalf swore. "We cannot stay overnight. We must make for the path."

They moved on as the sun set. Crebain had been spotted throughout the day, but had flown South with the end. Aragorn picked their path, and though it seemed as the path were invisible, the Ranger wove through the hills with ease. And some time in the night the pathway turned into blackened stone, crumbling and dark in the moonlight.

Frodo looked upward, for no reason except something in him made it necessary, and the Moon hung full over the company. He hurriedly caught up to Gandalf, whose eyes could see many leagues in the pitch black and watched the shadows carefully.

"Did you see anything pass over us?" He asked quietly. Gandalf did not look at him, nor at the sky, where Frodo knew something watched from above.

"No, but I felt it, whatever it was." The wizard said in hushed tones. "It may be nothing, only a wisp of thin cloud."

"Then it was moving fast, and against the wind." Aragorn muttered, seeming to materialize out of the dark. 

\---------

They camped again at dawn, Frodo slept fitfully under the returning cold wind from the mountain. They must be close, he could smell the snow on the air.

The Ring lay still under his shirts, he worried this may be a sign of impending doom.

His dreams were empty and it was all the more unsettling, for even in quiet rest he could find no peace. He decided to lay there still, despite his urge to roll over and open his eyes, at least resting his body if not his mind.

But even that couldn't be done anymore.

He sat up, the sun bore down upon them through the leaves of their thicket, he peered up before sighing.

_ What is on your mind, Baggins? _

Frodo shook his head, the Ring had no right to strike up a conversation with him.

_ Ahahahaha… Afraid of the boogeyman? _

He looked away, away from his friends, away from the shadow lingering in his mind.

_ Oooh, a brave little soul. How long will it last? Who can you trust? _

Frodo shivered, the cold was too much to bear. He peeked over at Sam, who diligently stayed by his side. The Hobbit was fast asleep, exuding warmth in thick waves that never reached him despite their proximity.

_ He will try to take the Ring. _

His eyes shifted to Boromir, and the man shifted in his sleep. Frodo could tell the Man wasn't asleep, that the Ring kept him awake with its mutterings and betrayals.

_ You will beg for Death before the end. _

"Shut up." He hissed aloud, Sam huffed beside him. He lowered his voice. "Just silence yourself, you will get nothing from me, Devil."

"Frodo?"

Aragorn sat up against a large tree, cloaked in its shade. The camouflage made it difficult to make out, but the King sat there, with flickering eyes.

_ You can trust no one. You are alone, little one. _

"Are you alright?"

Frodo closed his eyes and nodded. "Cold."

He heard the shift of metal and cloth and Aragorn smiled at him when he looked up. "Mind if I sit with you?"

He shook his head. Aragorn's warmth seeped between them, and slowly he felt himself relaxing.

Before he knew it, he was fast asleep by the Ranger's side.


	9. Nanduhirion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Redhorn Gate is the bridge between the East and the West of the Misty Mountains. Lady Galadriel and her lover, Celeborn, made use of this pass when fleeing Sauron's influence in Eriador as Annatar, Lord of Gifts. Along with her went the Three Rings, Nenya, Narya, and Vilya, as agreed by Celebrimbor. Narya and Vilya then were split from the Lady, given to Gil-galad for protection from the Shadow of the East.  
> Angered by this deception, Sauron tortured their maker until death for the whereabouts, but they remained at large. In response, Celebrimbor's body was flown as the battle flag in his great defeat in Eriador.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to finish this story before I pick up the other one. I'm getting busy as all get out, with two jobs, a death in the family, and needing to move things across two states. I'm still working it though.

They trekked on for two days more before Frodo noticed the hard set of Aragorn's shoulders and the way Gandalf eyed the Man. He supposed it was nothing at first. Then dawn broke on the third day, and a chill wind came down from the Mountain ahead.

"Winter closes in." Aragorn murmured, and Frodo only caught the words because he'd been watchful. "Snow will be upon us soon."

"What do you think of your course now, Estel? Tonight we shall be on our way high up the mountain to the Redhorn Gate, and the snow lies upon the shoulders of Caradhras. We may be waylaid by some evil or another, but the weather will prove a more formidable enemy." Gandalf griped back, continuing some argument they'd been carrying for what seemed to be days. Frodo busied himself with his bedroll to avoid detection of his dropping eaves, but his pointed ears caught it all.

"I think no good of our course from beginning to end, but there is no other pass through the Mountains South, and evil will befall us whichever way we go. But we must go on." Aragorn said gruffly.

"There is another way, one we have spoken of before."

"I would not wish to enter such a foul place, unless I have no other choice. My concern lies with the Ring-Bearer, but please let us hold off. Do not tell the others, I beg you."

"We must decide before we go on, Aragorn."

"Then let us weigh it in our minds while the others rest. I wish not to burden them with doubt."

Gandalf grumbled to himself as the two leaders of their party separated for the rest of the day. Frodo wondered what sorts of dark wicked things they kept hidden from the others, including himself. The whispering of the Ring, a continuous hum in his mind for weeks now, lay silent in his contemplation. He had half a mind to throw the thing into his pack, to shield it from their plans. But that would serve no good thing for him, as it could bounce from his pack as easily as it slipped from Gollum's fingers.

_ The Mines of Moria. You should fear to enter there. _

He shook himself, he had paused to muse, and he was sorely behind his companions in comfort. He threw out his blanket, and caught Boromir's gaze.

The Gondorian looked away as soon as he was caught, but Frodo knew the shadow in the Man's eyes had not been there a week ago. It was hunger, the hunger of a wolf circling his prey. Frodo shivered.

He instinctively curled in on himself, vowing the Man would find a more vicious foe of him than expected, and pulled his bedroll further from the center of their camp. Sam followed, the loyal lad, saying "Now, Mister Frodo, it would be careless to leave you in the cold."

All eyes turned to him, some for a brief glance, but Gandalf, Aragorn, and Merry stared what seemed like forever.

Pippin nudged his cousin, and they both pulled their bedrolls over to close his in. He looked on with mild irritation, but stuffed his complaints into his belly.

He said nothing as the day wore on. Gimli took first watch, and woke Legolas near midday, though the Elf never really seemed to sleep. He meditated, with his eyes closed, sitting upright or standing, nothing fazed him in that state. Frodo wondered when sleep would at last claim him, but the day wore on until the sun beat down upon the four Hobbits. And there, in that blissfully overpowering glare, he let his eyes slip.

\--------

He awoke what felt like seconds later, but the sun was dipping low on the horizon and Sam was shaking him gently.

"Wake up, Mister Frodo, or you'll miss dinner." He said, quieter now than earlier. Perhaps he too had seen what kind of attention Frodo was attracting, and had decided to put a stop to it in his own way.

Frodo groaned as his shoulder protested his dead-sleep and sudden movement.

He rose out of the blankets, now piled upon him as the others of his kin had been awake for some time. His hair clung to the nape of his neck from the sweat, and he felt groggy. Sam handed him a bowl of warm soup, and there was a small fire going, hidden behind bushes and still bodies.

He looked around, and he had been the last to awaken, he was mentally kicking himself. Tonight's walk would be a thousand times harder for his lack of sleep. The Ring's whisperings increased tenfold for half a moment, a reaction to his return to consciousness, then receded to the dull hum as before. He ate quickly, knowing soon his body would reject the rich food in favor of fighting the darkness within. He would need all the strength he could obtain.

"Is there a creek near?" He asked his blonde friend. "I should very much like to wash my face."

Sam nodded, "Strider knows where. Shall I ask him?"

Frodo felt eyes on him again, not Sam's for he was too close to trigger the warning in his mind. Aragorn's ears must truly be a wonder to hear his name from so far away. He refused to glance back, he would not show any more weakness today. He did not need to be coddled.

"No, but thank you, Sam. I think, perhaps a stretch and a small walk will do the same." He said with a tight smile and got up. Every joint cracked with disuse and his thighs and sides felt tight as a bow, had he moved just once in his sleep, this would not be a problem. He let out a small cry as his shoulder cramped and ached with a terrible burn, and let that arm rest at his side.

He could see Gandalf's pointed hat swivel, and grey eyes lighted on him with worry. He gave the same tight smile to the wizard, nodding before he knelt down to repack his roll.

Footsteps alerted him, and Sam left to warm up by the fire.

"Frodo,"

"I am fine, Gandalf. Please, do not worry for me just yet." He returned immediately, though his voice gave off an air of petulance and annoyance. He ducked his head. "My apologies, Gandalf, I grow weary of being the center of our worries. I have not been lost so early in our journey, and I wish not to cause more stress among the Fellowship."

The wizard let out a sharp bark of laughter, drawing his gaze. Gandalf was smiling at him, a warm welcome sight to ease his aching eyes. "My dear Hobbit, you misunderstand. But I will take note, and promise to worry only when you are not in my sight. Until then! I should like to show you to a wondrous stream, just shallow enough for a Hobbit to bathe, and deep enough for a swim. Come." And the wizard walked off, into the trees behind the camp.

Without hesitation, Frodo followed.

"How are you faring, dear lad? I have not had the time to wonder if you are in need. But I think now should do, though you may have to forgive an old man his forgetfulness." The wizard asked when they were out of earshot.

Frodo shrugged. "No worse than in Rivendell, I suppose. The cold is unbearable at times, and the wound I have aches with it."

Gandalf nodded. They were silent as they climbed a slight hill, and then the stream was right before them. Frodo nearly fell in before his time.

If not for the staff thrust in front of his feet.

"Step quick, for the sand is light, and you are heavy in comparison." Gandalf warned.

"I require no swim, but a bath would be welcome. I shall be quick. I do not like the idea of being caught unawares in nothing but breeches." He said, giving a small laugh.

"Take your time, I have advised that we do not leave until the full night settles upon us."

\-------

Revitalized by the sharp coolness of the stream, Frodo returned a little lighter than before. He and Gandalf joined the group around the little fire and he warmed his hands and feet before it burned low and Sam and Aragorn snuffed it. The Company huddled together, save a few, against the chilly night.

Merry and Pippin had departed not long after the dead fire, and slept in their bedrolls, their snores carried on the breeze. Legolas succumbed next, slipping into his meditative state as he sat between Gandalf and Boromir. One by one they drifted to their bedrolls, until only Samwise, Gandalf, Aragorn and Frodo were still awake.

Sam stayed because of Frodo, though he was nodding off every now and again. Gandalf shook the younger Hobbit gently and they departed, the wizard with a lingering "stay safe."

It seemed Frodo and Aragorn would take the first shift tonight. Both quiet and introspective, they sat in the pitch black. Comfort was far away for Frodo, and it seemed the same for the King. In that they shared the comfort of companionship, neither asking after the other. Aragorn's eyes saw outward, his concern lessened for the camp if he watched the horizons. Frodo only saw the last dying embers of the fire.

There was a rustling off to their right, but a cottontail was the only thing to come out and threaten them.

Aragorn opened his mouth, a loud sound in the silence, and Frodo jumped slightly. His skin tingled with surprise.

"You barely slept today."

Frodo nodded, his mouth glued shut out of exhaustion.

"I can take the watch tonight."

He shook his head.

Aragorn let out a heavy breath, it told him much more than words ever could. Aragorn was irate, and Frodo couldn't place where the anger stemmed from. "You must be exhausted, come sit closer. Perhaps you may find enough peace to sleep."

Frodo laughed, though it sounded rather maniacal again. He realized that he was the most honest about his condition in the presence of this Man. "Well met, I am exhausted. I walk with a nagging crow upon my shoulder, it caws when it thinks I am not paying attention, and pecks at my eyes when I sleep. I will turn my back to it no more, save in greatest need." And he sighed, a great rush of air leaving him as quickly as it came.

"You slept undisturbed mere nights before." Aragorn supplied. Frodo suspected it was a prodding, to get him to open up.

"Yes," he agreed carefully. A yawn belied his dispute. He grew more weary as they sat in the gloom. "It is because you are warm, I had been shivering for hours." He said definitively.

"The Winter approaches, Master Hobbit. Will you hold against the ice?" Aragorn wondered, his eyes cast upwards to the stars.

"I will not turn back, if that is what you ask." Frodo snapped. "I am not a child."

"No," Aragorn was nodding. "You are not."

They fell into silence again, with the Man looking at the stars and the Hobbit peering at the ground. Somehow, the silence acted as a membrane, holding Frodo somewhere between sleep and cottony thought. He faded in and out, and hardly a sound jolted him.

He tilted some, and opened his eyes. When had he closed them?

A blanket was pulled over him, and the length of a large body pressed against him, radiating heat.

"You should stay away." He murmured. "The Ring-"

"Hush, Frodo." Aragorn's voice rumbled like an earthquake.

\---------

By the next midnight, the Company sat at the knees of Caradhras, with Hobbit-high snow ahead, and brooding clouds behind. The wind picked up, carrying shards of snow that ripped into their faces, and Frodo looked up. Softly, the sky glittered the world with flakes, small now, but getting bigger with every passing moment.

High up in the sky, he thought he glimpsed a black figure. Though for him to see it at this distance, the creature had to be big.

_ Oh, don't worry, Halfling. There hasn't been any dragons in these monstrous mountains in millennia. _

The Ring was freezing against his chest, thumping out a low rhythm akin to an erratic heartbeat. It collided terribly with his own.

He wasn't paying attention, Pippin almost ran into him, and as he looked around to right himself, his head spun.

An arm wrapped around his back, steadying him. Frodo reached out to grip leather and cloth and a sword hilt. "My apologies." He said, still holding on.

"None needed. Come on." Aragorn said, right in his ear as the wind whipped at their faces, and they both pushed against the mighty breath of Caradhras.

Miles more they struggled, and the clouds closed in above them, thundering and menacing.

"Caradhras sends his regards." Legolas shouted into the wind and Gimli gave a short, mild roar.

"The Mountain is not ready to have visitors!"

"We must press on for shelter." Aragorn called up from his rearguard.

"We will find no better shelter than those caves!" Boromir pointed to the high stone, it acted as a wall, guiding the wind down upon the pass. Legolas, with his light feet, leapt up onto the snow banks, heading for the open mouths in the mountain.

"Three caves! Hardly big enough for more than four a piece." The Elf called to them, and Frodo could just barely hear him over the wailing of the wind.

"To the caves! Boromir, Aragorn, help the Halflings!" Gandalf commanded, raising his staff to the air. Boromir took Merry and Pippin, at the same time, over his shoulders and barreled through the snow. Sam refused the help, and stayed close to Gandalf, his mistrust in Men finally making itself apparent.

Frodo did not wish to be carried either, but he lagged behind and it drew Aragorn to lag with him. The wind pushed him this way and that, into Aragorn at times, where the Man would steady him and they would press on.

No more than a furlong they walked, but already the snow was heavier. It came down as a sheet of white, obscuring vision and deepening the frozen wasteland. Frodo stumbled again, and the King caught him just before he disappeared into the banks of snow.

"We're nearly there, Frodo! Push on!" He heard over the wind. The Ring started to laugh at him.

_ So this is how you end? Stuck in the snow like a lost child? _

Frodo grit his jaw. With Aragorn at his side, he forced his way through. They came out the snow to find their companions snug and fires lit. He was suddenly grateful Boromir had insisted on bringing wood up the mountain.

The two largest caves were full; Gandalf and his kin in one, and Legolas, Gimli and Boromir in the next. Aragorn was already in the third, building a small fire and laying out his bedroll, it seemed he would be slumbering in the smallest cave.

"Gandalf, I could use your help!" Aragorn said, and the old wizard stooped to enter the small cave. "The logs are wet, I cannot get a spark."

Gandalf thrust the end of his staff into the base of the log pile and it sparked to life with red and orange flame. "My presence at least has been compromised. For even Elrond and his kin could feel my magic from this many leagues." The wizard grumbled.

"Perhaps it may waylay our enemies." Aragorn said with a smile when Gandalf huffed at him.

\-------

The snow piled high as the night wore on. Sam put more blankets on the pony, and led him to guard the caves against the frost. That was the last he'd seen of his kin that night.

He sat across the fire, staring at Aragorn while he shivered and shook no matter how close to the heat he was. The Man was sharpening a sword, though Frodo could swear he'd seen it before in a much more dilapidated state. It was Anduril, the broken blade that Aragorn had fought with, against the Nine. How it had been reforged in under a fortnight was a miracle, and Frodo wondered what else the Elves could do in two weeks.

He didn't even notice he'd slipped into a doze until movement alerted him and he roused himself. He shook himself and stood. The Ring's musings became deafening again, and he held his head to keep some of it from leaking out of his ears.

_ Mine, precious, mine, mine, mine. _

Frodo shook his head as the Ring made note of his awareness.

_ Ooooooh. Tiny halfling is back. Come, read to us. Sing to us. Give us your soul… _

He bared his teeth as he exhaled, and it came out in a long hiss. It was echoed in his head, along with a simpering laughter.

"Frodo?" A voice cut through the whispers, clear and sharp like a knife. He opened his eyes, finding himself face to face with the Ranger of Numenor. The Ring let out a scream of frustration, and Frodo felt his fists clenched at his sides. "Frodo, are you with us?" There it was again, driving the darkness into the very edges of his mind, if only it could  _ stay _ that way.

The laughter echoed in his ears once more before all he heard was the crackle of the fire, Aragorn's even breathing, and the soft snow fall. The pony shifted a bit, probably to stay warm, and the clinking of the reigns were as clear as a bell.

"I am here." He answered belatedly, though he knew time had passed as he reacclimated to his own surroundings.

"It must be a heavy burden, for you to be so disoriented." Aragorn agreed to some invisible source of wisdom, perhaps he was visited by unearthly beings in the night as well.

Frodo drew his cloak tight about himself. "It is not heavy yet." He protested, but eventually he knew the distraction would not bode well for him.

"Yet." Aragorn smiled as he drew Frodo in closer to the fire. "Are you not cold?"

"The cold comes from within." Frodo admitted, though he sat as the Ranger asked. A rough, woolen blanket was draped over him and, while it did not alleviate the cold, it smelled of wondrous spices and herbs from all over Middle Earth. In that, he took the comforts of home and safety.

Aragorn sighed when Frodo continued to shiver. "Surely, you have not become as wraith-like as you had predicted just yet." He teased. "Food and ale would do you some good."

Frodo let out a small laugh. "Would that it were not true." He lamented.

"You respond well to body heat."

Frodo's face flushed.

"But your kin do not provide what you need." Aragorn pointed out. Frodo continued his silence, and the Ranger pressed on. "I have been watching our Company, Frodo, none more so than you. It seems that you will not trust us enough to sleep within the light of the fire, and you continue to deteriorate. I do not like watching these events, but I will not call the attention the situation needs."

Frodo felt his chest ripped open, and the chasm left behind was filled with shame and guilt. What Aragorn voiced had been true, and Frodo would gladly give in to the temptation of the Company's help, if not for the Ring and its ability to corrupt all that it touches. He had hoped that the silence would be enough to guard those closest to him. He hadn't exactly counted for Aragorn or Gandalf being too observant for his own good.

"Frodo?"

He looked up, and Aragorn was watching him intently, with eyes that seemed to catch every detail.

"I-" he exhaled. "I am so sorry, Aragorn."

"I have been trying to fight that which is unseen. And though I crave the warmth and light, it is hard to keep the darkness away from that pureness. I do not wish to alarm anyone, nor do I take pleasure in watching you all worry over me, but there are eyes in our midst that can steal this quest. And the Ring goads him ever on.

"For this reason alone, I am isolated." Frodo asserted. "I do not wish for my friends to lose their minds to this evil, and will take steps to prevent it."

Silence fell as softly as the snow after his words. It was the most direct he'd been about the danger inside the Fellowship, and somehow, the weight of knowing had been lifted. He breathed easier, saw clearer. 

Aragorn frowned at the small fire in their cave, he seemed to chew the knowledge in his mouth for a long time, and the taste did not satisfy.

"But you feel safe with me." The Man pointed out once again. "Do you think the Ring speaks any less to me?"

Frodo shook his head. "But you are not listening to it. That is the difference." He defended.


	10. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cahadras the Cruel, Redhorn, Barazimbar.  
> This foreboding mountain sends regards with snow and high winds. Winter does not favor the Fellowship, and the Shadows grow ever higher.  
> In this darkness, the Ring will take any opportunity to weaken these false heroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK IN BLACK!  
> Or as black as I can buy.  
> Anyway, I'm here, and ready to finish my s***. It's been a long month for me, but I threw my back out (somehow?) and having nothing to do but write. So the road goes on.

Frodo awoke to the murmurs of the others, about snow, and the sun, and waiting. He looked up to see that the sun had not yet risen, and the snow had piled high against the face of the mountain. The fire had not died throughout the night, either that or Aragorn had kept it going. Though how long it had been was not exactly clear. He felt somewhat better now, and it might have had to do with the small enclosure and the roaring flames. 

A long warmth curled around him, and he sighed, Aragorn was bold tonight. He murmured in his sleepy haze, and a hand carded through his hair, lulling him further into the fog of his mind. The beginnings of arousal began to stir through him and _finally_ he was too hot.

The hands seemed to know his every thought, or maybe he'd said it aloud, but the blankets were pushed away and the relief flooded him. He let his eyes slip again, revelling in the hands burying into each of his layers, touching his skin. Rough, calloused thumbs caught on his nipples, a heavy breath fluttered against his ear, then the whisper of a beard scraped his skin. Shivers shot down his spine, curled his toes and made him moan.

He heard a slight chuckle, and the hands roamed beneath his waistband, spreading his thighs.

Gasping, he turned in the bed roll, pressing his front to Aragorn's, writhing until he felt an incredible hardness against his hip.

"Strider," he groaned legibly. Finally able to work his mouth into forming words.

"Little one," the Man breathed into his ear, and he felt a tongue curl around the pointed tip. "Give in."

_What?_

Frodo pushed at the man, there was something entirely wrong here, Aragorn would never intentionally say things the Ring repeated day after day. Especially _because_ he knew what it was trying to do.

The Ranger was much heavier than he could begin to imagine, the weight cloaked him and he was smothered by a demanding kiss. His heart hammered in his chest, did he want _this?_  He always thought Aragorn would have more care, the Numenorian was the very impersonation of everything noble and just, he had not expected such direct ferocity. He struggled to breathe, gasping when Aragorn pulled back just enough, only to smother him again. He felt like a possession, to be owned and controlled.

This was _not_ the King of Gondor.

He pushed and wriggled, and fought until the Man above him snarled and pulled back. In those grey eyes, Frodo caught a very faint glimpse of a demanding flame.

"Sauron."

Aragorn grinned, and it was too alike for his enjoyment. "You do not like the _skin_ I chose just for you?"

He felt horror slide down into his belly like ice.

"My little one," the Shadow purred to him. "My Ring-Bearer."

Frodo felt sick, his entire being rejected this thing, this creature of hate. Using Aragorn's form was another disgusting tactic, to get him to lower his guard, to make him pliable to the will of the Ring.

"You will seek no purchase here, demon." He said with a vicious poison in his tone. And he bucked, and writhed again against the mighty weight of the Dark Lord.

"I detest your will, halfling." The Necromancer growled through Aragorn's voice, his malice too great to be contained by the visage of the light. The flesh dissolved into a form he did not recognise; long blonde hair, fair features, and those daunting eyes. The very same that watched him from the dark. Full, pouting lips parted into a menacing smile. "You belong to me forever."

"By will alone, I will not fall to you. Abhorred, servant of Melkor. Cruel maker and Lord of Evil." Frodo spat into the fair face, drawing another displeased look from the Shadow. "You _will not_ take my soul, even if you have me here. I am no toy,no object to be possessed. I am a Hobbit of the Shire, of Yavanna, wife of Aule. I bow to none, least of all a castaway."

The visage was more cruel for the light flowing from the skin of this fair Elf when the gleam of fire and shadow lay just beyond the mask. Especially when Frodo was given an indulgent smile, he would have found the being as decadent as the stars if not for the burning hate.

"I will take from you, Frodo Baggins. You shall be a shell of your former self, and there is no one to turn to. Your King will be dead, and I will destroy your Shire, enslave your people. And you will be my pet, my Ring-Bearer always. You will live with my burden and you will sit at my feet, licking the blood of your _prrreciousss_ Ranger from my boots."

The Shadow descended, crushing him and pushing him, he could scarcely breathe under the force of the invasion. His entire structure was filled to the brim with the hatred, and his heart pumped blackened blood through his veins. He screamed under the pain until his voice cracked, and his throat bled. Every joint ached, and his muscles seemed to snap from the pressure. Sauron used him until there was nothing, not even a hair was left untouched.

His struggle was nothing here, the Necromancer had found a way in, had used his subconscious to torment him further.

\-------

Frodo gasped, and the pressure returned in full, his panic just a step behind. He let out a small cry, relaying his discomfort and racing pulse, and he struggled to escape. Though he knew there _was_ no escape, he would be torn open, split apart and sewn back together in a horrible fashion. He still tried.

A hand pulling at his blankets made it all the worse.

"No!" He screamed, or sobbed, he couldn't tell. No matter how many times he opened his eyes, he _could not wake up._

"Frodo."

"Please, no. I don't want- please. Stop." He groaned against the hands fighting to hold him.

"Frodo, stop. You are safe. You are in my care."

He flailed all of his limbs at once, hit something hard, and pushed it away. This time it gave easily. He knew it could be a trick, that Sauron had decided that once wasn't enough, creating a false sense of security that would have ultimately devastated him. He felt anger surge through him, and he beat his fists against the shadows of his captor.

"What- Frodo-"

Hands gripped his wrists, and he thought they would be broken again. He pulled and wrenched away, gaining no more ground than he had before.

"Frodo, what is happening to you?"

"You're not real." He whimpered, waiting. Surely, Sauron had no desire to make a fool of him twice, not in the same evening, not in the same fashion.

The change never came.

"Am I awake?" He asked, not allowing himself to hope, because hope is what will kill him eventually.

Aragorn gave him a very confused and concerned look. "Yes, you awoke as I laid down beside you."

Frodo let his eyes slip closed, he was _awake_ and that was all that mattered to him at that moment.

Aragorn released his hands. "You're bruised." He said, and Frodo was afraid to open his eyes. 

"Yes." He agreed. He certainly felt bruised, and broken, but that the bruises would carry over felt like a slap to the face. "I have-" he paused to gasp as the pain finally set into his skin. "I have fought a rigorous battle, Aragorn."

He looked around; the fire had burned low and the snow wasn't as high, but still piled onto itself with a forceful wind. "I haven't woken anyone. Have I?"

Aragorn shook his head, though his eyes still held a distant worry in them. "No one whom did not understand the difficulties of resisting the Power of the One."

Nodding, he let himself sag onto the ground, inches from Aragorn's bent knees. His body tried to contain the sobs threatening to spill over, and he must have looked smaller than ever before.

"Oh, Frodo."

The shift of cloth and dirt warned him, but he didn't move as long, strong arms _carefully_ pulled him closer. Aragorn held him as close as possible, both shielding him and letting him hide in the long cloak and dark hair. The smell of spices enveloped him, he should have known.

"Don't speak." The Man shushed him when he tried to explain. "You are not weak, Frodo."

\-------

 

As the Sun dawned over the mountain, the snow seemed to have piled higher than even Gandalf's head.

The sight made Frodo shiver uncontrollably as his companions tried to spearhead a plan through. Aragorn's eyes almost _never_ left him now.

To him, it seemed that Aragorn was far too familiar with his struggle. Had the Numenorian been experiencing the same intensifying torture? Or perhaps the Ranger was simply _that_ noble and just? Regardless, it worried him. If Aragorn was being violated by the Ring, why would the Man stay by his side so consistently? Did the Man know a way to beat the evil from the inside? If so, Frodo wanted that secret.

"The snow would bury the Hobbits," Boromir's voice rang out, catching his attention. Although, he was sure it was more the content that had alerted him. "Here, Aragorn is tall, and I am stout. We should be able to make a suitable path." The Gondorian then clapped Aragorn's shoulder. Frodo caught the glimpse of irritation on the Ranger's face at that moment and the Man had caught him watching.

He blushed madly under the scrutiny, and more so when Aragorn winked at him playfully.

"A wonderful idea, Master Boromir." Gandalf enthused, and Frodo could see the old wizard longed to be rid of Caradhras, the Cruel.

"I shall scout ahead." Legolas offered, and he leapt atop the high wall of snow.

Gimli grumbled something about Elves and fairies, which made Merry laugh heartily.

It was hard, in the light of day, to fear the shadows in the dark. But Frodo knew that no matter what happened today, he would be weak in the night.

"The Halflings could still be lost, we may consider carrying them."

"No offense, but I prefer to keep my own feet on the ground, Mister Gandalf, sir." Sam said, and Frodo couldn't help the smile breaking on his face. His friend was a stubborn Hobbit, but he was a good sort and Frodo didn't fancy much being carried either.

His gaze returned to the King, and he had to amend himself. Unless Aragorn was willing.

He could still smell the soap and herbs that Aragorn carried, the scent was now woven into his clothes and cloak. Had he been less terrified of falling asleep, he would have appreciated the closeness of the Ranger in the night.

A lot of things could have been different last night, he mused.

It wasn't long before the tunnel was made and reinforced, by both Man and Dwarf. Boromir took his cousins, Pippin clung to his front, and Merry on his back, leaving his arms free to widen the hole. Then Gandalf escorted Sam through, followed by Gimli. Legolas received them on the other side, making sure their retreat from the mountain was indeed safe.

Frodo's heart pounded, Aragorn came back through and asked if he would rather walk. Though he doubted the Ranger really would have let him after last night.

"I would like to be carried." He admitted, and Aragorn obliged him.

"You are not weak, Frodo." The Man repeated.

The snow was bearable, and he decided that yes, this was the best option. His own feet would have gone numb halfway through.

When he was set down, the rest of the Company was busy. Enjoying the unusually bright sun, sparring, or arguing the next best course. Frodo felt as if he were the only one truly unsure of himself at that exact moment, and then Sam pulled him aside for breakfast.

\-------

 

The descent had been treacherous, leaving Frodo with aching legs and a sore bottom, for he had slipped more than once.

His mind had been preoccupied throughout the day, sometimes he missed a step, and then he'd know _exactly_ how hard the mountain was. Aragorn had stopped to help him many times, and he was too exhausted to refuse. The sleep he had gotten the night before had stolen every vestige of energy from him. And he regretted his weariness when the Ring made to slip through his fingers.

He'd fallen again, he remembered it distinctly because of the bruises now forming atop his _other_ bruises, and his tumble took him quite far down the mountain. At least, before Merry and Aragorn managed to stop him and help him up. The Ring must have fallen from his neck in the descent. 

Several yards above him, Boromir had picked it up, chain and all. It had slipped as Frodo had thought, and was now alight with voices with the mere touch of the Man. Against all his hopes, it had looked like Boromir was going to keep it.

But they both jumped when Aragorn shouted, "Boromir, give the Ring to Frodo."

The Darkness did not pass until Frodo had the Ring safely in his palm, where he clenched his fist around it vindictively. The little smile and a pat on the shoulder the Gondorian gave him was not settling in the least, but it seemed that danger had come and go swiftly between the Men.

The fire they set up at the foot of the mountain did nothing to ease his chill, and he refused Sam's help this time.

If the Ring was going to torture him, he'd rather not have anyone find out, not like Aragorn did. And the shame of it all came crashing down on him at the thought.

His hands shook violently when he rolled his bed out for the night. The Ring had been eerily silent since the exchange with Boromir, and he feared what his victory would cost him.

His nerves, however, were frayed beyond measure. And he leaped out of his skin when a distant howl echoed through the night air.

"What was that?" Gimli wondered aloud. The Dwarf had not been happy to climb over the mountain, and had been gloating over it for hours, they thought he'd never stop.

Gandalf was poised where he was seated, but Frodo knew the wizard, those eyes were not for the pipe in his mouth.

"Wolves?" Boromir wondered.

Aragorn shook his head, his eyes, too, were scanning the darkening horizon. "Wolves do not tread here, we would have seen them by now. I would be willing to wager it is Isengard Wargs."

"And it would be a bet you would win, Aragorn!" Gandalf barked. "Wargs of Saruman, Carrion of Saruman! Isengard has the passage South watched, we have only one choice."

"And what is that?" Pippin asked.

Gandalf took a long pull off his pipe, obviously not willing to explain. Aragorn let out a heavy sigh.

"We cannot over the mountain," The Numenorean King said. "But we can go under it. Through Moria."

"Moria?" Frodo felt himself ask, the name was vaguely familiar, like a story from his childhood.

"Aye, Moria!" Gimli laughed. "No need to fear the mines! My cousin, Balin, will give us a royal welcome, feasts of meat and beer, and songs in the halls of Dwarrowdelf. Long have I wished to look upon Khazad-dum once again!"

"And indeed you shall, Master Dwarf." Gandalf's hearty laugh echoed into the darkness, slicing the Company's anxieties apart. "Though a royal welcome would cause undue attraction from the forces of evil. I advise a small feast and then a long sleep to reinvigorate our tired bones."

"A feast would be welcome enough." Merry agreed.

"And ale!" Pippin enthused. "Don't forget ale!"

"Aye, young Hobbits! Ale the likes of which you've not seen in the South Farthing!" Gimli laughed.


	11. The Watcher in the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iluvatar created Arda perfect, and unmarred. When he asked his Valar to sing to him their desires, he made them the creation of their sorrows and their contentment upon the soil of Arda. But as Melkor grew envious and greedy, there he released chaos upon all of Middle-Earth and all the lands beyond. Creatures of anger, hate, discourse, and malice began to roam the deepest, darkest places of the world.  
> When Melkor arrived on Arda alongside his fellow Valar, he built a home for his dark thoughts, Utumno, the fortress underground.  
> That time is long-gone, the creatures are loose upon the world and they answer only to themselves, as do all the lost, broken toys of Melkor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back in black!  
> Not really, though today I am wearing black.

_ I command the shadows of your deepest desires. _

 

_ My pretty little thing. _

 

_ Wake up. _

 

Frodo opened his eyes and a howl greeted him almost immediately. Even in the face of the Sun herself, evil moved between the trees and haunted their footsteps.

They had camped with their backs to the river, the Silverlode, faces out towards the threat snapping at their fingertips. Frodo could feel the heat from the fire at the back of his neck, and it reminded him of the burning hot collar Sauron had put on him mere nights before. He moved out of his bedroll quickly, letting the winter chill soothe his fraying nerves.

He stared into the fire. It was a shade brighter than the dark flame in Sauron's eyes, and he found some comfort in that.

"Frodo?"

Aragorn was once again awake. Frodo was beginning to wonder whether he was predictable, or Aragorn, too, woke from the dark shadowy halls of Barad'dur.

"I am here." He answered softly so as not to wake his other companions.

"Are you cold again?"

Frodo finally looked away from the fire, it's imprint blurring the lines of Aragorn's face. "No." Then he closed his eyes and whispered. "Yes."

"Frodo, tell me what you need."

_ What do you need, little one? _

He recoiled from the Ring. "I need-" he took a deep breath, and it came out shaky. "I need to destroy this Ring. I need to be released, to be free, to be alive."

A laugh full of malice filtered into his ears, muffling Aragorn's answer. He shook his head. He felt sluggish, disconnected. His knees wavered and he almost tilted into the fire before righting himself.

Hands steadied his shoulders, he must have looked ill for he certainly felt sick.

"Here, Frodo."

A flask was pressed into his hand. The metal was cool to the touch and seemed empty for the lightness of it. What did Aragorn expect him to do with it?

"It'll warm you and give you renewed vigor. Drink it."

He had never known Aragorn to give him something poisonous, but then again, he didn't know the Man for very long at all. Didn't know that he was a Dunedain, didn't know his real name, didn't know he was a  _ King. _

Was this another trick?

"I don't want it." He said, handing it back to the reluctant but very  _ real _ hands. He did not dare look up, he would not wish to see the true face once it returned.

"I wish you would trust me, little Hobbit," Aragorn said before he pulled away and Frodo's eyes opened. The sun filtered through the trees, blinding and warm against the cold wind. Frodo wished he could take it back, could take the hurt out of Aragorn's eyes, but caution was needed. And if he had to put  _ everyone _ at arm's length, he will.

\-------

 

They were camped at night now, atop a hill, where their eyes could see all the land below for miles. Frodo stood at the edge of the ring of rocks, a curious ruin in the middle of nowhere, watching the setting sun. Talk of wolves had been non-stop since the first howl chased them down the mountain, he grew weary of the threat.

The rest of the Company grew restless as the dark fell upon them, noises in the night closed in as their fire died.

Frodo had been able to doze off, though his companions felt a need to keep him close, and Sam hardly budged, with his back straight and his eyes outward. His shoulder had become a pillow for poor Frodo, whose very existence seemed to drain all his energy.

Sounds of metal clinking and a sword being drawn from its sheath woke him, and he searched the clearing blearily. A grey shape had entered the circle, poised between the rocks with glinting eyes. Eyes that seemed to close in on him.

Sam had fallen asleep, and Pippin and Merry were at his feet, snoring loudly. They were children in the eyes of the hunter.

The wolf opened its mouth, panting. Gleams of moonlight shined on dripping teeth, and Frodo felt a shudder run down his spine. He watched as the creature geared up to leap upon them.

It let out a great howl, a chieftain calling his pack to the hunt, and it was cut short by a long sword. Aragorn raised his sword again and brought it back down upon the head of the wolf. Blood splashed out of the wound, and the wolf shook its head as if it were a mere headache, snarling.

With a quiet roar, Aragorn brought his sword down again, and the blade made a purchase in a fatal place.

Frodo's eyes did not watch the wolf fall or the blood pool. He watched the wild expression upon Aragorn's face, the bloodlust that was tightly wrapped in Dunedain clothes.

Sauron could  _ never _ imitate that look.

Aragorn wrenched his sword out of the wolf's body and caught his gaze. He lifted a finger to his lips, smearing blood in his beard, a signal to stay silent. Frodo felt his body warm inappropriately. Sam shifted against him, startled him, and he tried to feign sleep as well as he could.

He did not manage to find sleep after that. His blood was raging through his veins like a full river. More howls filled the trees, some close enough to shake his bones, some too far away to be considered a threat yet. The night drew on, getting darker and louder. Aragorn hadn't moved much, and so Frodo watched as the hunter scanned the night, and he couldn't help the fantasy of being the prey.

Until suddenly the night went silent. Even the wind stopped. The only sounds were the dying fire and his sleeping kin, who had not woken throughout the ordeal. A twig snapped nearby, and Gimli stood from his own watchful position.

A growl started behind Frodo, then grew, and grew. Into a cacophony of vicious animalistic sounds that chilled his very bones.

Gandalf, Boromir, and Legolas all stood at the sound. The fire blazed to life, someone had thrown a log onto the embering pile, and in the flicker of the high flames, there were wolves. All outside the ring of stones. Gandalf held his staff aloft, shadowed by bright flame.

"Listen, Hounds of Sauron!" He shouted, a booming voice echoing down the hill. "Gandalf is here! Fly, if you value your foul skin. I will shrivel you from tails to snouts if you come within this ring!"

Without warning, howls rose fierce and wild about the camp, raising the hairs on Frodo's arms and neck. Boromir threw more wood on the fire, and in the leaping light, many grey shapes fell over the stones like water, one after another, filling the camp with their earnest. Like lightning, Aragorn's sword greeted flesh, thrust through the throat of a large Warg. Blood littered the ground, arrows sang through the air, Gimli roared as he bashed his axe into the skull of a Warg twice his size.

Frodo leaped up, with his sword in his grip. His kin were not as brave, but Sam stood beside him with a pan in one hand and a sword in the other. Together they defended Frodo's younger cousins, while the camp became a symphony of shouts and yelps and the sound of wood whistling through the air.

In the madness of battle, Gandalf struck his staff into the fire and it blazed high into the trees, which caught and carried the light down the hill. The heat of it singed Frodo's hair and bore down upon him as if to suffocate.

_ "Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan i ngaurhoth!" _ The Wizard bellowed, his voice the thunder to Aragorn's first strike.

The night blazed into day, and the bodies of these great wolves were revealed to Frodo's eye. They were giant, massive bodies of black fur and black eyes, bloodied teeth and long, sharp claws that dug into the ground like talons. These were no normal wolves.

Sam's pan clanged as the last stroke fell. The other monsters had fled before the towering might of Gandalf.

"Is everyone alright?" Boromir asked, breaking the silence.

"They seem to have moved on." Gimli chuckled as he cleaned his axe.

Aragorn sheathed his sword and stepped up to the Hobbits. "Did you get bitten or scratched?" He asked of Sam and Frodo. Only his hand landed upon Frodo's shoulder.  _ Fear, _ it shone through that careful Healer's mask. Frodo felt it creep upon him as he began to grasp the danger following them.

\-------

 

Upon first light, they broke camp and made for the high cliff in the distance. They moved swiftly, stopping for almost nothing, as the wolves were sure to follow with quick feet and sharp teeth. Frodo barely kept up, as weary as he was, but Aragorn made certain he did not fall behind. Gimli walked ahead with the Wizard, eager to reach Moria before nightfall. For none knew the way but Gandalf, and the roads wound tight as a snake through the rocky valley. The Silverlode was a comforting sight that followed the path as tightly as nature could allow. Frodo longed to wash his feet in the cool water.

As the darkness drew in, the Company moved faster, and faster. Even Bill, the pony, had to trot to keep up with Gandalf.

Finally, the river opened wide to receive a lake of dark water, reflecting the rising moon. Their path took them down, to the banks of the lake, and to where cliff met water. Gandalf allowed them a long-deserved rest along that stretch of sheer rock.

Though he requested no fire be built.

Strange though it was, they obeyed, glad to sit or lay among the rocks with their chests heaving. Legolas was finally silent as he too sat heavily amongst them. Only Gandalf seemed to continue; scanning the rock face as if it would suddenly sprout a bridge or ladder.

"I knew it!" Sam gasped. "No wolf can get Gandalf, and damn them if they run him to the ground."

Frodo nodded, he had spent his childhood running after Gandalf and his quick-footed Uncle Bilbo, though now he knew they were too easy on him. He wondered what else they had kept from him all these years.

Sam moved on when he realized that Frodo was exhausted, sharing food and warmth with Gimli and Merry and Pippin down closer by the lake. Gimli regaled them with tales, no doubt of dwarves and the deep places of the world. By the looks on his cousins' faces, they were enthralling and wondrous. Legolas stood not too far away with a small smile on his perfectly shaped mouth, eyes for the stars but ears on the dwarf not feet from him.

Boromir seemed to want to argue, once again, against entering the mine. "Wargs behind us, Moria ahead. I do not know which would be worse; to find the gate shut forever and stuck between the cliff and teeth, or to enter the mine itself." Frodo heard him say to the Wizard.

"If the gate is shut, it won't open to your criticism, Boromir," Gandalf said curtly, nodding his wide-brimmed hat as he continued mumbling to himself.

Frodo looked away with a smirk.

_ "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs."  _ Gandalf said aloud, drawing the Company's attention to the door. Which had drawn the light of the moon to shine outward at their faces, drawn in delicate blue, flowing across the stone like vines.

“What do you suppose that means?” Pippin asked.

"It means, if you speak the password, then the doors will open. If not, it remains shut to us.” Gandalf shouted, his voice echoing off the cliff face. Frodo hoped the sound would deter their pursuers. “Now, quiet. All of you. I do not remember off the top of my hat everything the world has to offer, for if I did, no doubt we would have been here before now.”

Hours passed, and Frodo refused to fall asleep, even though everything in him  _ demanded _ relief. He was no fool, and Sauron was too eager to get him back in those horrid dreams. He shunned the very idea of sleep, at least until he was dying from exhaustion. Maybe then Sauron would find it in his heart to leave him be for one night.

No, he just sat there. Staring.

He knew it would look odd, but he didn’t care anymore. His friends knew well by now what he was going through.

_ Friends. _

“It’s a riddle.”

Gandalf looked up at him, caught his eye, and smiled. “A riddle, eh?”

“‘Speak friend, and enter.’” Frodo muttered. “What’s the elvish word for ‘friend’?”

_ “Mellon.” _

There was a great crack, followed by a deep groan, the kind one would make after not having moved for so long. And then the wall split and swung open to admit them. Merry and Pippin started cheering.

“Soon, master elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves; roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin...and they call this a Mine…” Gimli said with exasperation as the Company gathered their belongings and headed inside. “A mine!?” The dwarf’s voice echoed into the dark hole now in the face of the mountain.

“This mine was no mine at all,” Legolas said wistfully. “It was a passageway, a road between Lorien and Eriador when the Dark One came and laid waste to Celebrimbor and his kin. It was the gateway for many lives.”

“Pah! Elvish squabbles are nothing to us Dwarves! Even Melkor’s servant could stand no taller than the might of Aule’s first-borne!” Gimli grumbled.

“This no mine, and this is no gateway,” Boromir said, his torch held high into the dark of the cave. “This is a tomb.”

And the Gondorian was right; bodies littered the carefully carved floors, some stuck with arrows, others cleaved straight in half. Frodo felt sick. All the death in the grand opening room made him want to puke, and the smell of rotting flesh would never leave him. Gimli let out an anguished howl, rushing to what appeared to be his kin, though how anyone could tell was beyond Frodo. They all looked the same; grey and webbed by spiders. A far cry different from the wraiths of the South Barrows in his homeland. There was  _ no _ life in these corpses, no spirit to bring them back for revenge or repentance.

Frodo had to step back. If he didn’t, he would vomit all over his cousins and Sam.

He encountered ropes and tripped some before righting himself. His head swam, and there was a cold, clammy feeling spreading through his limbs, starting with his legs. The ropes tightened as he struggled with them and eventually yanked his feet out from under him.

His yelp echoed through the cave of dead things as his belly landed hard against the ground.

“Aragorn!” He yelled.

He was lifted into the air by one of his legs, and he shouted from the panic. If he was dropped, he would die.

“What is that thing?!” He heard someone shout as he was lifted over the water and came face-to-face with the ugliest water-demon he’d ever had the pleasure of sighting.

“Aragorn!” He screamed as he realized he was about to be food for this monster. “Help!”

Those cold, slimy ropes wrapped around his other ankle and one of his arms. He couldn’t reach for his sword, and the Ring dangled precariously in front of him. He closed his eyes, still screaming. Better the Ring ends up in the gullet of this strange fish than the hand of the Dark One.

Suddenly, he was dropped, then caught. An arrow whizzed by his head, then another and the great beast groaned in pain. His eyes flew open, and Aragorn’s cry of sudden war filled his ears before he fell again. There was a mighty roar, unearthly and terrifying, and Frodo clung to the wet cloth of Aragorn’s cloak as they ran back inside the mines.

The monster followed them, pulling its great weight onto the shore with its long tentacles, but it was too heavy for the stone doors of Moria. The doors collapsed from the sheer magnitude of the creature, closing them into the dark and lifeless halls. Frodo’s hands reflexively clenched into Aragorn’s shirtmail as they were plunged into the shadows.

_ The Ranger is not so disagreeable.  _ The Ring whispered, only for his ears.

Aragorn held him down as rocks continued to tumble down around them, both shielding him and preventing escape. Frodo thought, for a fraction of a second, that he was in certain danger again and could only hope that Aragorn was strong enough to refrain from hurting him. The Ring was laughing at him.

“Frodo, are you hurt?”

“No.” The Hobbit let out a shaking breath, willing his heart to stop its frantic rhythm against his chest. “I am not hurt.”

“Good.” And Aragorn relaxed atop him as if there had been some sort of panic keeping him afloat. Frodo let the Man curl around his smaller form, a protective stance, one Frodo had only seen when mothers are protecting their offspring.

“What was that?” He asked.

“A Kraken!” Gimli shouted and sprung out of the rocks. “Great beast-fish from the deep! Curse that damned thing!”

“We must face the long dark of Moria,” Gandalf said, striking his staff upon the ground until a light sprung to life at the top. The soft yellow glow highlighted the shadows of Aragorn’s face, and the Man looked rattled from the inside. “Be on your guard, there are older and  _ fouler _ things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.”

\-------

Aragorn hadn’t been able to leave his side throughout their journey in the winding halls, pushing and pulling and shielding Frodo whenever it suited.

For once, he didn’t mind. It meant safety and warmth in a very cold, alien place. Every turn presented its own danger, and they had backtracked more than thrice since Frodo had seen the moonlight. They often huddled as close to the fire as was allowed when they rested, watching in pairs since the danger was lurking in the corners of their eyes.

Until they reached an impossible task; three halls, one went up, another went down, and the third was shrouded in darkness. No one could see what lay down the third corridor, and try as he might, Frodo couldn’t  _ hear _ anything either.

“Well met! Camp down while you can, my friends. My memory, again, serves us no answer to this riddle.” Gandalf said, his voice echoing in the chamber and two of the puzzling corridors.

“Perhaps Master Baggins can unravel this one as well!” Boromir chuckled aloud, but all Frodo could hear was accusation and malice in the Gondorian’s voice. He turned away from the Company and laid out his pack. “As it is, we should build a fire to cook.”

“I say Sam should do the cooking!” Merry exclaimed though the younger hobbit seemed to be growing quieter as they tread further towards the core of the earth. Frodo worried that his cousins were more affected by this quest than they let on.

“And I say that you ought to do the dishes then,” Sam grumbled out loud, giving everyone a moment to laugh and breathe.

Then Aragorn stood up. “Aye, if Sam does the cooking and Merry does the dishes, I shall look for wood.”

Frodo felt his stomach jump into his throat. He had longed for a moment away from the Company, for a moment with Aragorn, since they had been trapped in this horrible place. And for three days, or so Gandalf told him, there had not been such an opportunity to take the advantage. “I will go with Strider.” He announced to Sam.

“Bring your sword,” Aragorn told him. “It will at least give us some warning.”

Aragorn led him back the way they came, slower still as the steps were crumbling and Frodo had no protection from the sharp rocks. They entered the atrium below, and Aragorn deviated off the path into the large cavern.

“If we had Gandalf’s light, this would be easier,” Frodo commented quietly, hearing Aragorn’s breath catch with laughter.

“There is a different kind of light here,” The Gondorian muttered. “You can still see once you are used to it.”

A hand guided him around an obstacle, the shadows were oppressive and Frodo could hardly see anything. “Hobbits are not normally nocturnal, we have no need to see in the dark so we do not go out in the dark.”

“I have seen your people out at night, but Hobbiton is always alight with tiny fires. Your folk surely do not fear the dark.”

Frodo smiled to himself. “Yes, well, not many of us have seen beyond our borders. We do not fear the dark in Hobbiton, we fear what is outside of our world. And from all of our travels, I cannot blame them.”

“Then I am no longer the shifty man from Bree, and have been replaced by a gigantic fish?” Aragorn asked though Frodo could hear the jest in his voice. They stopped and Aragorn began handing him long branches, but they were light like bushes.

“No,” He murmured once Aragorn gripped his hand again. The blindness was a blanket, soft and cottony like safety. He could tell Aragorn anything and it wouldn’t have bothered him as it would were they in the light. The Man led him again, winding as if they were avoiding something and Frodo stumbled. He shook his head to clear it.

“Tell me, Frodo.”

Frodo took a deep breath. “You do not frighten me. The mountain, the wolves, and the Kraken, they all frightened me. But you are not so perilous.”

“Indeed, I am not as foul as I am rough. I have lived many years in the wildernesses, slept in various ways, and had to make my way whether it was just or not. A king I may not be, but a friend to the enemy of my enemies surely.” Aragorn sounded amused still, but Frodo could feel the sorrow there.

“You are most certainly a king, my friend.” He muttered, almost to himself. “Men would not normally escort someone of my stature to certain death.”

Another gruff laugh echoed in the dark atrium, and bounced off every object to reverberate back to Frodo’s sensitive ears. “Your opinion of me is highly valued, Frodo.” He felt a blush roll over him, the heat of it falling all the way down to his toes. Aragorn sounded fond, and still amused, but now there was a burning feeling in his chest. Something like desire and jealousy all in one.

“Strider,”

“Hush, now.” Was whispered into his ear. He fell silent, and he could hear the soft splash of water streaming away and nothing else.

“What is it?” He breathed, feeling around for the Man. Warm hands gripped his shoulders, stopping him from wandering off, and he was gently dragged to the right until he met the wall. “Aragorn?”

One of the hands covered his mouth. “Orcs,” Aragorn “Or at least a rogue band of goblins. Listen, they do not know we are here.”

Frodo strained to hear what Aragorn had pinpointed already, and there was a slight air in the room that drifted a smell of filth to them. “Goblins.” He cursed and reached for Sting. Aragorn stopped him again.

“They could see it, this way,” Aragorn said, and they moved along the wall, away from the smell of burning hair and acidic brimstone. Frodo held onto Aragorn’s arm, he was safest with the Man and nothing short of death would stop Aragorn. The wall led them to another corridor that smelled clean and dusty, Frodo had to stifle the sneeze threatening to burst forth from him and Aragorn pulled him close to help him muffle the sound.

They continued through the hallway, the wood in Frodo’s arms began to weigh on him, and Aragorn made them turn down another corridor of stone.

“Where are we now?” He asked, his voice echoing like the hiss of a snake.

The King was silent as they moved forward, and then suddenly they could hear the voices of their companions. “We are flights below where we were.” The Man said then. “Can you continue still?”

Frodo nodded, and though he would like to be carried again by his friend, there was a modicum of propriety to uphold. He was still a respectable Hobbit.

Aragorn took the load from him, and smiled.


End file.
